


Feed Him Up

by type_40_consulting_detective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dinner, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Oral Sex, Post Case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/type_40_consulting_detective/pseuds/type_40_consulting_detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has someone now who can feed him up a bit. That what Boyfriends are for, right? Well, and the sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feed Him Up

The last case had finished up before lunch and Sherlock had immediately crashed, giving John several hours of much needed peace and quiet. It had been a long set of weeks, back-to-back and overlapping cases. Their bank account was grateful, but John’s body cried out for regular meals and sleep, and a chair by the fire with a good book.

When John had leisurely finished his tea and toast, he scoured the cupboards and fridge for dinner fixings. Some mince that hadn’t gone off yet and some tinned tomatoes almost magically became Sherlock’s favorite spaghetti with marinara and meatballs. For all his cries about “it’s just transport” and “calories are calories, John!” John knew how to get the detective to eat when it had been too many days on next to no food.

John tested the sauce one last time, finding it good but hurting for the lack of fresh onions. Nothing for it now, he thought. He entered the bedroom quietly. Sherlock was sprawled across the bed, snoring lightly. His feet twitch in rhythm of his breathing. John hated to wake him, but knew Sherlock would be better off for it.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” John whispered in his ear, and stroked softly down his back. Sher rolled, pulling John on to the bed with him in the process. John chuckled as the detective pulled him close like a child would their teddy bear. Sherlock was warm and soft and lovely in moments like this, and John drank it in. When they had been entwined for 10 minutes, Sherlock stopped to sniff the air and sighed contently.

“Oh John.” he practically moaned “Marinara.”

“And meatballs.” John replied, kissing him on the cheek. Sherlock shrugged away and rolled off the bed, grabbing a gown to wrap over his well worn pajamas.

John dished two plates with smallish helpings. Never overloading Sherlock’s plate was the key to a successful dinner. With all the thought John put in his lovers care and feeding, it was a wonder Sherlock hadn’t figured out his tricks. Maybe he had, and played along anyway.

Sherlock started quietly, still half asleep. John filled the silence with talk about the case, and which parts should be left out of the blog. The detective became more animated as he finished his food, and John excused himself to the restroom while Sherlock grabbed more meatballs and salad. Sherlock with a case solved and a full belly meant only one thing, sex was next. Sherlock’s bright, hungry eyes when John came back to the table confirmed it, and he started the mental countdown.

The sinks were full of suds and dishes and John was scrubbing at the saucepan when Sherlock tiptoed over and wrapped himself around the doctor’s back. Sherlock’s head rested on John’s uninjured shoulder, his bed head curls tickling his lovers neck. John tried hard appear unaffected, but Sherlock was half hard and slotted into the dip of his back just above his arse.

"Well, hello there," he purred, and rolled his hips back against Sherlock’s.

"Tonight?" Sherlock asked, licking at the John's pulse point and nipping lightly.

"Washing up," John rinsed the saucepan and set it on the rack to dry.

"Please?" he whimpered, and rubbed back and forth across John's arse.

"Convince me then, go on," he chuckled, and braced for impact.

Sherlock snaked one hand up under John’s shirt, stroking his warm skin. The other palmed at John’s cock, stirring need in him. John bit back a groan and carried on, scrubbing the pasta pot a bit harder than strictly necessary. Making Sherlock work for it was almost harder on him, but always paid off.

Getting little response, Sherlock doubled his efforts. He undid John’s flies and reached in, pulling him out into the cool air and working him slowly. John finished the last plate, rinsing it and setting it in the rack to dry. The second he pulled the plug, Sherlock was turning him around and pushing his back to the sink.

“So eager, love.” John chuckled.

“Want you,” Sherlock admitted as he went to his knees. He licked softly at the head of John’s cock, teasing him. “It’s been ages.”

John didn’t remind him that it had only been three days, and two before that. Sherlock was a needy and pliant lover, but prone to a full blown strop at any moment. It was much like making love to a bomb, John thought. Instead, he carded his fingers through his lover’s hair and made soft, pleased noises.

Encouraged, Sherlock took just the head in his mouth, working his tongue around the foreskin and across the slit. Sherlock was a sight to behold, his plush lips spit-slicked and his eyes shut tight in concentration. John gasped when he suddenly swallowed him halfway down, and hollowed his cheeks as he sucked all the way off.

“Beautiful,” John said, as he pulled him up for a kiss. Sherlock’s kisses were deep and desperate, begging for things he couldn’t say out loud. John worked down his neck, licking, sucking, and nipping from ear to collar bone. Sherlock’s hands became frantic, scratching John’s sides.

“John,” Sherlock moaned. John responded by kneading his arse cheeks with nimble, strong fingers. “Jooooooohn.” He was practically climbing John’s body when he let up, giving his lover a chance to breathe. “Damn it John, too much.”

“No it’s not,” John laughed at the pouty face he made, and sucked at his bottom lip. “Off to bed, then.”

Sherlock shucked his dressing gown in the hall on the way to their room. His t-shirt was lost just inside the door and his pyjama bottoms fell at the side of the bed. John picked up each piece and pitched them into the hamper by the dresser before removing his own clothes. He retrieved the lube from the bedside drawer and sat next to Sherlock, who was on his stomach diagonal across the bed, legs spread wide and arse tipped up to provide a tempting view.

“Right to it then, love?” John lightly slapped one wiggling cheek.

“Jooohn,” Sherlock whined, and buried his face in the pillow. “I can’t wait.”

“You’ll wait,” John said firmly as he trailed his lube slicked finger tips from Sherlock’s testicles up to his entrance and back down. “I’ve got you. Shhhh, just relax.”

Sherlock bucked his hips when John applied pressure, first finger slipping in and thumb braced just below to work his prostate from both sides. John opened him as slowly as he dared and staying longer than needed so he could listen to Sherlock’s whimpers and moans. He wanted his lover completely undone and bared to him. A bit sadistic, John knew, since Sherlock couldn’t come without his cock stroked.

When moans turned to desperate keening and Sherlock’s hips wouldn’t still, John knew it was time. He pulled his fingers out and bodily turned his lover over. The sweat-slicked man had gone boneless and pliant, and this was no easy task. John pulled him into position, legs up and over his good shoulder. He lined up, cock tip resting just at the opening, and waited.

“John, please. Pleasepleaseplease.” Sherlock murmured, eyes half closed. John shushed him again, sliding a hand down his body from throat to cock. His first thrust in was timed for the moment he gripped the base of his lover’s hard, weeping prick, and Sherlock bucked between the two overwhelming sensations.

John kept a slow, steady pace, his eyes always on Sherlock’s face. His expression was so raw and open, something John enjoyed more that he probably should. He had such power over this man, power to break him to pieces. Sherlock’s body shook beneath him, balancing on the knife’s edge of orgasm.

John shifted so Sherlock’s legs splayed out to either side of them, and balanced his own body with a hand on the headboard. He changed from gripping the base to stroking the length, twisting slightly on the upstroke. His hips snapped at a furious pace designed to bring them both off as quickly as possible. Sherlock seemed to reanimate, wrapping himself around John and clawing his back frantically as he gasped and keened his way to orgasm. In a few more thrusts, John followed him, pushed over but the rhythmic pulsing that surrounded him.

Completely spent, Sherlock was asleep before John pulled out of him. John chuckled and went to the bathroom for a warm washcloth to clean him with. Sherlock waking up stuck to the sheets was guaranteed to ruin their whole day tomorrow. He didn’t seem to have the sense not to rip away the offending sheet. When they were both clean, John turned the snoring detective to his side and tucked them both beneath the duvet. He lay awake a long time, staring at Sherlock face awash in moon light. He might never be sure what he had done to deserve this, but he was not letting his mad man go again. Not for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to SHJW* Writers Circle for beta and word wars and encouragement! Especially The MadKatter13 for a through going over that had me rebuilding from scratch and making it a million times better.


End file.
